


Prompt Fill 2

by golden_flare



Series: tumblr prompt fills [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fat Character, M/M, Mpreg, Weight Gain, fat appreciation, thoughts of abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_flare/pseuds/golden_flare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for anon.</p><p>"John has gotten so fat that he doesn’t realise he’s pregnant till quite a few months along. He’s terrified of telling Sherlock. Plus maybe he gets ginormous because he’s having a ridiculous amount of babies."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt Fill 2

**Author's Note:**

> please mind the tags. no beta.  
> (title will change once I come up with a suitable one)

John just can’t explain why he’s experiencing such fatigue as of lately. Everything is just the same. Him and Sherlock going to crime scenes, visiting Lestrade at Scotland Yard or going after the bad guys. Pretty much the same. Except maybe the extra stone he has put on ever since they’ve entered a more intimate relationship, but they haven’t slowed him down that much.

~

Trying to heave himself up proves to be a bit more difficult than thought. It’s not the weight, but the sudden dizziness, that’s throwing him off. John huffs as he sinks back down. Being a doctor should be much more helpful in this situation, but he can’t guess what it is.

Fatigue, he’s easier out of breath, a steady weight gain and a few weeks prior he experienced nausea throughout the day for a week or so. He’s checked most books he has at hand, but they all point to things that would have to have other symptoms to be it, or the most unlikely one: pregnancy.

John frowns and leans back, his hands going to his bulging middle, always feeling oddly comforted by its softness and weight. Sometimes he can’t believe how fat Sherlock is allowing him to get and still wanting him. This blimp. With thighs that touch, bulging sides and a belly that actually rests in his lap. He hasn’t seen his toes in months. A fat companion that only gets fatter. But then Sherlock shows him often enough just how much he likes John that way and John couldn’t be happier.

His hands press into the ball of fat sitting in his lap. There couldn’t possibly be a baby in there. He would know. And Sherlock has always been careful. At least he thinks. Sherlock might be a genius, but he wasn’t such a brilliant mind when it came to such things and in the haze John could imagine Sherlock skipping some important things.

~

The way home is tiresome, but it flies by in a blur.

Pregnant. He’s really pregnant. Sherlock has put a baby in him.

Sherlock who doesn’t really want children. The genius who’s married to his work and running after criminals and solving mysterious crimes. They’ve had that conversation once over dinner. When their relationship was still new and fresh. Just shortly after Sherlock confessing to John that he disliked seeing the other on such strict diets and that he’d love to help John put back on that weight and some more, if he wanted to.

The words on the subject of children still ring in his ear.

_“Children? No. I don’t think so. By all means, children are useful and are the source of a stable society, but can you imagine me carrying a baby around a crime scene, John? Not really, no.”_

And that had been it. Now John is pregnant and actually terrified. Just for a fleeting moment he thinks of not keeping the child, but his whole being shakes with disgust at himself. He can’t do that. Being a doctor he also knows that he is too far along for such a crude action.

His hands rub the soft expanse of his belly. Five months along and there isn’t much of a trace of pregnancy. Yes, he had grown in the last few months, especially in that area, but he’d have never guessed that it was due to a baby and not the cause of the amount of food Sherlock feeds him day in and out.

The drive home is too short to figure out what to do.

~

“Are you unwell?” Sherlock asks with a concerned expression as John only plays with the second portion Sherlock has put in front of him.

“Just not overly hungry. Been feeling a bit off today,” is all he can answer without giving too much away.

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“I _am_ a doctor, for god’s sake!” and with those words he jumps up as quickly as his heavy body allows and waddles off. The gnawing feeling in his gut has been getting worse over the day and he doesn’t need to listen to Sherlock and his stupid obvious statements.

It takes Sherlock a whole three hours before he dares to come after him.

“Do you. Uhm. Do you want to talk about it?” he asks as awkward as ever when it comes to emotional things. But he still enters the room and bothers to sit down beside John, who’s curled up on the bed.

John contemplates, but goes with the, “No.”

He can hear Sherlock’s mind working, even from under the duvet.

“John please. I can see that you are distressed. I am willing to listen to you.”

Maybe he should just tell him. Get it done and over with. Harry would surely let him stay for a week.

Untangling himself from the duvet, he heaves himself into a sitting position, and takes a deep breath. Now.

“I was at the doctor’s today. And I’m good. Just my blood samples were a bit off. So he did another and it was the same result: I’m having a baby.”

He watches Sherlock’s face twist and change into a multitude of expressions and the more time passes, the more anxious John gets. Finally Sherlock seems to find his voice again:

“You’re pregnant?”

John wants to slap him. “Yes.”

“And it is mine?” Sherlock is a genius by some standards, but to John he’s an idiot.

“Of course it is!” and as if out of habit his hands find his middle, as if to make sure the baby is still there. It rouses a strange feeling in John’s chest, to feel his belly for a sign of his baby instead of just excess body fat.

Sherlock falls silent again and John feels his mind race as well. It takes Sherlock minutes before the words start gushing from his mouth.

“Do you want to start looking for a new flat? When would be best? Should I give Mycroft a ring and get him to put in a good word for us at a nice place? Did you ask the doctor for the sex? No, obviously not. We need to make a new appointment then. To decorate the new nursery. Animals and colours are likely to stimulate the early development. We don’t want our child to turn out like Anderson. Especially ….”

“Stop!” John shouts and Sherlock’s mouth hangs open mid-sentence. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“About our baby of course. There’s so much planning to do. We’ve still got months to go, but better get it all sorted now.”

“Please don’t give me this crap, Sherlock. You don’t even want children.”

And for the first time John can see the plain sadness and hurt on Sherlock’s face.

“John. Listen,” he starts, his voice shaking, “what I’ve said those months ago. I’ve meant it. Back then. It never fit into my plans. And I thought you’d think the same. How could anybody want to stick around long enough to raise a family with me? But the last few months have shown me that I’d truly find enjoyment in raising a family with you, you just didn’t show any signs of approaching the subject again. Please forgive me for having made you feel like doing wrong with having a baby. I want this baby. With you.”

John feels his heart skip a beat. There are no words to reply with, so he pulls Sherlock into a searing kiss.

Breathless they part, but now they are on the bed, curled into each other.

“You think we can move and sort everything out in six months?” Sherlock asks as he slowly rests his hand on John’s middle.

“We’d have to make it in four” John smiles and kisses the shock off of Sherlock’s face.

~

“How often do I have to remind you of your bed rest?”

“I am sorry for being bored after having been stuck in bed for hours on end. As long as I can still walk, I will.” John says in as he waddles past Sherlock to raid the freshly bought groceries. “And I’m starving.”

He may be having a healthy set of quadruplets, but that doesn’t mean he has to be stuck in various sitting and lying positions for the whole day. With a groan he goes through the bags. Standing has become a task over the last few weeks, but he’s just not yet willing to be bed-bound.

“Looking for this?” Sherlock asks from the side, holding up a package of John’s favourite mini-cakes.

John smiles and waits for Sherlock to bend and give him a kiss. “You just know what I want.”

“Of course I do, John. Now better off to bed with you, and I’ll feed them to you.”

John turns as fast as his body lets him and slowly waddles towards the bedroom, one hand in the small of his back for supports, the other rubbing big circles on the mound his belly has become.

With Sherlock’s help he’ll be bed-bound earlier than thought, but he really doesn’t mind.


End file.
